


5 times Connor stole Hank’s clothes + 1 time Hank (unwillingly) stole Connor’s

by sky_blue_hightops



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Computer Viruses, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Kinda, Platonic Cuddling, Sensory Deprivation, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-06-08 10:50:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15241773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_blue_hightops/pseuds/sky_blue_hightops
Summary: Connor cracked a smile, face dripping with water and thirium. “Hello, Lieutenant Anderson. I hope I am not intruding but I am in need of assistance and concluded that you might be willing to help me-” His explanation was cut off when he slipped down the doorframe. Hank caught his shoulders and hauled him back up, ignoring the mixture of cold, clear liquid and warm, blue as it soaked into his (already dirty) shirt.





	1. Deviant

It kind of started after the revolution. At least, that’s when Hank finally got fed up with that stupid jacket of Connor’s. Something about the bright blue model number and the big, blazing ‘ANDROID’ on the back really got under his skin. Whenever Connor wore that stupidly concerned look or smiled, the image was ruined by the Cyberlife symbols that still marked him as some unfeeling, mission-driven machine.

The straw that  _really_  broke the camel’s back, though, was when Connor showed up on his doorstep the day after the revolution, soaked in rain and his own thirium.

Hank woke at three am to Connor’s signature knock - that is, Connor incessantly leaning on the doorbell until the older man managed to claw his way out of bed. Hank obliged, wearily slinging the door open. He opened his mouth, the beginnings of an annoyed rant on his lips, until he noticed Connor slumped against his doorframe. “What do you think you’re doing, son?” Hank shook his shoulder. “Connor?”

Connor raised his head, revealing what could only be described as a watercolor painting of bluish bruises smeared across his face. (Could androids even bruise? How invested in 'immersion’ were these nutjobs?) He cracked a smile, face dripping with water and thirium. “Hello, Lieutenant Anderson. I hope I am not intruding but I am in need of assistance and concluded that you might be willing to help me-” His explanation was cut off when he slipped down the doorframe. Hank caught his shoulders and hauled him back up, ignoring the mixture of cold, clear liquid and warm, blue as it soaked into his (already dirty) shirt.

“You’re an idiot, you hear me?” Hank spat out, tucking Connor under his arm and helping the unstable android inside and out of the rain. “Care to tell me what happened, or is it some funky android thing you’re not allowed to talk about.”

Connor shook his head, back stiffening as Hank guided him to the kitchen table and dropped him in a seat. Sumo, undoubtedly woken by the continuous bell-ringing, borfed softly and padded over to drop his head in Connor’s lap. Almost on instinct, Connor’s hand found that spot behind Sumo’s ears and began to scratch softly. Hank narrowed his eyes.

“That’s sweet and all, but what happened. Stop avoiding this, Connor, if you do actually want me to help.” The hand on Connor’s shoulder moved up to cup his face. “Son, you gotta talk to me.”

Connor finally met his eyes. Hank honestly expected some sort of analytical response or perhaps a lofty recollection of whatever happened to cause him to look like a punching bag.

Hank didn’t quite expect Connor to start crying, but hey. There’s a first time for everything.

Connor’s brown eyes welled up with tears, dripping down stained cheeks and evidence of the pain he couldn’t feel, not yet. (A reminder of his not-quite-humanity, Hank supposed.) “No, no, hey kid. It’s okay, alright?” Hank pulled him in for a hug, one hand in Connor’s hair and the other rubbing his back. “I’ll help, don’t worry. But you have to tell me what’s wrong, Connor.”

The kid sniffled a little, leaking onto Hank’s shirt (ew) and grabbing fistfuls of the ratty fabric. “I-I was on my way to the station, to wait until tomorrow, a-and there was a group of humans with anti-android sentiments, and I think they saw my uniform and-and there’s so many new feelings- and I didn’t know what to do or why-”

Hank cursed out the stupid jacket in his head, shushing Connor. “Alright, I got it, you’re okay. You wanna stay here tonight?” He felt Connor press harder against him, felt the shaky flutter of Connor’s thirium pump. “You wanna borrow some clothes that aren’t gonna give my floors water damage?” A nod. A pause.

“May I utilise your restroom to clean myself up?” Connor asked weakly.

“Yeah, kid,” Hank answered, but Connor made no move to get up. Hank sighed, and with a muttered  _do I gotta do everything in this house?_ helped Connor up and to the restroom.

Ten minutes later saw Connor, freshly showered and wrapped in one of Hank’s biggest, fluffiest towels, sat on the edge of the bathtub as Hank rooted around in his closet for clothes around Connor’s size. The android was a few inches shorter but skinnier in build, which meant pretty much everything Hank had was a size too big.

He eventually settled on a sweater and a pair of sweatpants from ten years ago, the faded Detroit Police Academy logo emblazoned on the chest. He also managed to find his guilty pleasure, a pair of pink and blue fuzzy socks with the rubber bits on the sole and a cartoonish floral pattern.

Hank returned to the bathroom with his clothes in hand to find Connor half-asleep, now on the floor with Sumo sitting upright next to the tired android. Sumo, ever the giant angel, was patiently letting Connor lean his full weight on the St. Bernard, face hidden in Sumo’s fur. Hank gently poked Connor with his foot. “You still with me, kid? I found clothes.”

Connor jolted back to alertness, and Hank did his best to ignore the sickening swath of bruises in favor of pulling Connor to his feet. “Here’s the clothes. Yell if you need me.” Connor nodded and Hank left, closing the door behind him.

He moved to sit at the table, snagging a paper napkin to halfheartedly wipe at the small puddles of rain and thirum left behind until Connor emerged from the bathroom, Sumo hot on his heels.

If Hank had it in his cold, shrivelly heart to call something  _adorable_ , it would probably be Connor swamped in the old sweats, fuzzy socks pulled up as high as they could go and the sweater hanging off one shoulder. The kid looked dead on his feet, eyes falling shut and snapping back open in the manner of someone losing a battle to exhaustion. “Ready to sleep?” Hank asked needlessly, already getting up to shove Connor in the general direction of the couch with a pillow and a blanket. Connor apparently didn’t see it necessary to answer, allowing himself to be manhandled to the couch.

The kid was out like a light, Sumo nestled on his chest in a way that might make Hank concerned for Connor’s ability to breathe if the kid didn’t sit firmly in the  _doesn’t need oxygen_  department. Hank smiled, flicked off the lights, and began the trek back to his room.

The tranquility of the night was shattered with a string of curses as Hank stubbed his toe on his dresser and then finally collapsed back into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so check out some awesome art for this one [here](https://the-lesbian-jesus.tumblr.com/post/175702806213/so-im-a-dork-ass-nerd-and-i-drew-connor)


	2. Hypothermia

Connor's fingers fumbled with the inside of the door, but the cold metal was smooth. The only handle was on the outside. He was trapped.

He stood in the center of the freezer, scanning it for possible exits. Several metal utility tables lined the room, heaped with spare android parts and barrels of thirium. The crime scene of his latest case, and his last if he couldn't find a way out. Androids could resist colder temperatures for quite some time, but even with the ability to turn off his temperature sensors in times of extreme duress, he needed to keep them on. If he turned them off, he wouldn't be able to keep track of how quickly his body submitted to the cold. Turning off his ability to feel the cold didn't mean it made him immune to it.

So he stood there, shivering. His standard RK800 jacket was unfortunately not designed to insulate androids in this kind of environment. His sensors told him the thermostat in the walk-in freezer was set to 0 degrees Fahrenheit. 

**TIME BEFORE HARDWARE INSTABILITY: 01:27:19**

Hank was- he shook his head. Hank was still back at the station. Connor had insisted he was able handle this lead himself. Why wouldn't he be able to? He was made for detective work, and was able to conduct investigations alone. His whole purpose was to work with or without the assistance of humans.

Plus, Hank had stayed up late the night before watching the game and looked exhausted. But Connor would never admit the reason for leaving Hank behind was simply concern. Then the old detective would've insisted on coming along, and - well, they'd probably both be trapped in a walk-in freezer meant for android biocomponent smuggling. And Hank wouldn't be able to withstand the cold as well as Connor. 

He blinked out of his thoughts. Hank was at the station, and the thick metal walls of the freezer prevented Connor from messaging him, or anyone, via electronics. The door was shut fast, with no inside handle and no less than three adult human males under the influence of varying amounts of red ice guarding it. There were no windows, and the freezer had no external walls. The metal was approximately 6 inches thick ( _well, at least it's regulation_ , Connor mused) and near-impossible to cut through without the proper tools.

He spent the next 11 minutes and 16 seconds carefully examining the walls for weakness, but whoever had constructed the freezer had done a good job. The door itself was especially fortified - had they planned on trapping him or others in here? _This could have implications for the case_ , Connor thought. _Was the intent to cause fatalities, or were they simply keeping him in here because they didn't know what to do with him?_

He organized the evidence in his memory banks for later, when being a detective was a higher on the priority list than staying conscious. The cold had seeped under his collar long ago, and every inch of his synthetic skin was beginning to numb slightly. His core, in a last ditch effort to generate heat, resolutely pumped thirium at faster speeds. The increased movement of his pump and the rapid pace of his thirium supply kept it from freezing - for now.

He returned to the center of the freezer, sitting down and tucking his knees into his chest to maximize heat insulation. He wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his chin on his knees. His fingers, he realized, had gone numb - the sensors in them must have succumbed to the cold. He pulled his sleeves over them and resigned himself to enduring the uncomfortable chill until his constructions could determine the best plan of action, but it was hard to concentrate when the constant stream of error messages kept filling his vision.

Annoyance pricked at his core. Yes, he knew he was cold. Yes, he knew his sensory protocols were unresponsive. Yes, he knew his optical and auditory inputs were losing quality. Did his systems have to keep reminding him? He just wanted to rest. Thinking was much too difficult all of a sudden.

A half hour passed, but he wasn't quite sure if it was longer. How long had he been here? His database was offline. His systems were near-totally unresponsive. He should tell Hank, because Hank had made him promise to tell him when things went wrong. Connor wanted to keep his promise, he really did! But a shallow scan told him Hank was nowhere nearby, and his warning messages told him he didn't have the energy to get up and go look for the older detective.

He lifted a hand to examine it visually. His fingers were pale, and the tips were crusted with frost. He tried to move them, but they didn't obey, so he sighed and settled back in to wait. Hank would come and get annoyed with him for neglecting to keep his promise, as usual.

***

Hank was annoyed. That dumb kid of his was nowhere to be found. He knew Connor had said something during their break about following a lead, but Hank had still been half-asleep at that point and had let the android go without much of a complaint. Now, however, he was wide awake and _certain_ that Connor should be back by now. 

His watch told him five-thirty in the evening. Break had been at noon. Connor should _definitely_ be back by now, if only to accompany the lieutenant home and bug him until he promised not to stop at any bars. Goodness knows the kid would stay late working every day if that weren't the case. But in addition to the late hour, he had this gut feeling something had gone wrong. Who was he kidding? It was Connor. Simple logic told him something had gone wrong.

A quick onceover at the files on Connor's desk held no clues as to where the 'lead' was, or even _what_ it was. Hank sat down at the younger detective's desk and squinted at his terminal, unfortunately locked with a password. What would a dorky, goofy-lookin' android like Connor have as a password? He entered 'Sumo.' and took a moment to ponder at how the literal embodiment of advancements in computer technology had such a simple password before skimming through the notes carefully typed out with perfect grammar and punctuation.

The only thing of note was an address, seemingly of urgent priority as it was typed without any punctuation or even capital letters, signs the kid had rushed it in his haste to go and analyze it in person. Hank pulled out his phone and scanned it in, the GPS application automatically taking over and pointing him in the direction of the station's entrance. Hank rolled his eyes and snagged his jacket. "Yep, know how to leave the building, thanks Alexa."

***

Connor's fingers played with his hair, the soft texture soothing against the burn that had settled in approximately 7 minutes and 28 seconds ago (according to his manual count, as his database was still nonfunctional). Even the warnings had frozen mid-blink, angry-red and large in his optical input. He didn't know how much longer his internal biocomponents could take the cold. The thirium in his lines was sluggish even with its normal freezing point of -10 degrees Fahrenheit. At the very least, he would remain barely functional. 

The guards, in the span of those 7 minutes and 28 seconds, had attempted to open the door once, but quickly closed it against the cold once they had jerked his head up by his hair and confirmed he was still operational by delivering several blows of moderate intensity to his head and torso. Connor knew red ice had the potential to make humans more susceptible to extreme temperatures, and felt a stiff, small smile cross his face at the thought of the guards' discomfort.

Connor was fairly certain the guards had failed to damage any important biocomponents, but with his internal scans offline, he had no way of confirming his assumptions. He blinked open his eyes and glanced around; there wasn't anything but a few minor splatters of thirium on the ground. He exhaled in relief and closed his eyes again to protect them from the cold.

The only thing he was worried about, primarily, was the integrity of his sensory components. They had been offline long enough to cause concern - a few of those parts were made of softer tissue, and had the potential to be permanently damaged by the continuous low temperatures. He cupped his hands over his ears and hoped that would be enough to protect them - the only problem was that by doing so, his arms weren't in contact with his torso. His internal fixtures would lose heat faster.

He blinked open his eyes once more, confused by how dim the freezer seemed to have gotten. Oh yes, the freezer. He was in a <<definition requested: device made for preserving perishable materials with low temperatures>>, wasn't he? How had he gotten here again?

No matter. He couldn't remember why or how, but he knew that he wasn't alone. Someone was looking for him, he knew it. He just couldn't quite recall their name.

***

The address was, to put it lightly, a trash heap. The walls seemed ready to fall over at any second, the road in front was littered with trash and scrap metal, and the roof was completely missing. For all intents and purposes he would have turned right back around and declared it a dead end, but. There was a chance Connor was stuck somewhere in there.

He got out of the car and locked it three times, just in case, before walking up to what he could only guess was the front door. It was a literal hole in the wall, but a step back and a look around showed no other way to get in besides making his own hole. (He didn't completely rule that out, though. The metal walls looked fragile enough.)

He rubbed at his eyes as they adjusted to the pitch black of the building's insides, pulling his phone out to turn on the flashlight and cursing when he almost tripped over- he rubbed his eyes again and cursed quieter. An android, slumped on the ground and missing several parts, and from the look of the puddle around them, missing quite a bit of thirium. He doubted they were still able to be fixed or reactivated or whatever those new android repair shops did. The logical conclusion that something had gone wrong now had evidence, and Hank was worried.

He was about to call out for Connor when someone laughed raucously from several rooms away. Hank pulled out his gun, turning off his flashlight and creeping towards the source of the laughing. _Sounds like a coupla idiots high on somethin'_ , he thought. _Makes 'em even more of a threat._ He clicked off the safety.

The laughing got louder. He felt a snarl pull at his lips and stepped up to peer around the corner. Three men sat at a table, passing around something to sniff and finding it hilarious. Yep, definitely high. Red ice, from the look of it.

Beyond them was a metal door. It looked kinda like one of those freezers you'd see in the back of a restaurant or a meat market, meant for storing a lot of stuff versus your normally-sized freezer. He frowned, and took note of the rifles leaned against the table. _Were they guarding the freezer?_

***

Connor was startled out of his emergency standby mode by several brief, sharp noises outside the freezer. Shouting. Why were they shouting? Was someone trying to talk to him?

He tried to inhale, to speak, but his voice modulator protested the action. Static filled his vision. He very much wanted to lean against the wall of the freezer, but when he did, he realized it was cold. But he didn't have the energy to stop leaning on it, so he simply slumped against the wall and let his eyes slip shut again.

Warnings flashed brighter, making his head hurt, but closing his eyes didn't block them out. 

**SHU &^%WN IMMI*&^T: 00:00:31**

He groaned, the sound coming out shrill in a way that hurt his ears. Every part of his body was either numb or full of a deep ache that made him want to never move again, but his right hand was twitching uncontrollably. "-nor? CON-" The door rattled. He lolled his head to the side to watch, eyes blank and focus detached from his current situation.

"Hhh-" His voice hurt. His throat hurt. Warm hands, so warm they hurt, patted his face. His auditory processors registered sound coming from in front of him, but there was a disconnect between said processors and his main system. Someone was here, someone was warm, and he never wanted to be cold again. Cold- it took him back to memories of snow and ice and blue light, memories he thought he had lost, but here he was, cold and half-gone and hurting- Someone was here. Right? Someone was here.

'-id, it's me, it's Hank-" Cursing. Connor blinked open his eyes. Hank? <<protocol not found; register possible aliases to scan database more efficiently>> He blinked again. A blurry shape, grey and brown and still very, very warm. Hands pulled at his arms, pulled him away from the very cold surface into a very warm surface. Possible aliases? Who was Hank again?

His weak, frozen fingers clutched at fabric. He scanned his emotions. Safe. He was safe now, wasn't he? Who did he feel safe around?

"D-" His voice modulator fizzed in and out. "Dad?" <<protocol found; initiating standby mode>>

***

He found Connor pressed into the wall of the walk-in freezer, looking like death warmed over - or, well, death frozen over - and instantly dropped to his knees before the android. "Connor!" He pressed his hands to the kid's face before hissing and drawing them back. Connor's face was as cold as the metal he was leaning against. Hank pulled the android away from the wall, but Connor pulled away and blinked hazily up at him. "Kid, it's me, it's Hank-" He cursed loudly, before wrapping his arms around Connor to warm him up and rubbing the android's arms with his hands. He couldn't do much else, too scared that a lot would shock Connor's systems.

The android grasped his shirt, head tucked under Hank's chin. "D-" A bit of painful-sounding static. "Dad?"

Hank stilled his movements, slightly shocked. "Yeah, I'm here, okay?" No response. "Connor?" But the android was unconscious. Hank felt his heart stop for a second before taking his jacket and the sweater underneath off. He pulled the sweater over Connor's head, and did his best to thread Connor's arms into the jacket.

He hesitated for a split second before deciding to pick up the android, scooping Connor up and holding him close. He fumbled with his phone - it was a struggle, but he managed to dial the police station and keep his hold on Connor. A brief chat with one of the detectives told him a couple cruisers were heading their way. Hank settled Connor into one of the three chairs at the table, ignoring the three druggies tied up in the corner and bleeding from bullet wounds he felt no remorse in inflicting. "Connor, you gotta wake up so I know you're okay." He shook the android's shoulder. "Bud, c'mon.'

Connor opened his eyes for half a second, clearly still out of it. "'m okay, just gotta-" He let his head drop forward into Hank's shoulder. "Just need to rest. Where 're we, Dad?"

Hank held the back of Connor's head, fingers pressed against frost-covered hair. "Don't worry about it, son. You go on and rest now."


	3. Sensory Deprivation

“-and local authorities recommend for members of the android population to refrain from interfacing or otherwise interacting with each other in a way that would promote the spread of the malware-”

Connor clicked off the TV in time for Hank to stumble into the living room, slipping on his jacket and scooping up his keys. “You ready?”

Connor nodded, already dressed to leave. “I have been since approximately 8:04 AM.” He got up to follow Hank out of the house. “I also took the liberty to feed and water Sumo and water Leo.”

Hank snorted. “I still can’t believe you named your aloe plant Leopold.” He closed and locked the door behind them. “Still not as bad as Reed’s cat,” he muttered. “Where do you wanna stop first, the mall or the grocery store?”

“The mall, as due to the early hour it will be less crowded,” Connor reasoned. Hank nodded.

“Mall it is.”

***

“Hank, I feel as if we are not progressing with our goal.”

Hank rolled his eyes over the clothes gathered in his arms. “Yeah, clothes shopping is a bore, but you need something more suited for the weather.”

Connor frowned in his direction, shelving the two shirts he had been comparing. “I still do not understand. My usual outfits are still of good quality.”

“It’s… It’s a little weird to see you walking around in coats and jackets in July, Connor.”

Connor relented, picking up a third and adding it to Hank’s collection. “Is this all? I have already cataloged and totaled our purchases.”

“Yeah, c'mon. Can you still do that thing where you pay with your mind? My hands are full.” Hank followed Connor to the register, where the sales associate waited, her name tag proclaiming her JENNY and her LED proclaiming her an android. Connor’s own LED spun yellow a few times to match the associate’s as he paid.

The whole exchange took a matter of seconds, Jenny giving them a smile and a ‘thanks for coming, would you like a bag?’. Hank shook his head and with that, they left the store.

“You know, back in my day we-”

“Hank, you have told me about things you did 'back in your day’ approximately 12 times in the past month.”

***

It wasn’t until they reached the grocery store that Connor realized his mistake.

It started with a standard warning for malfunctioning block of code. Connor ignored it at first in favor of keeping Hank in the produce section ( **CHANCE OF SUCCESS: 37%** ) but it continued to pop up despite his best efforts.

_WARNING: UNIDENTIFIED ENTITY. RECOMMEND FURTHER CODE ANALYSIS._

Connor closed it, scooping a pineapple into a bag and tuning out Hank’s protests against the fruit. “Pineapples contain Vitamin C, which is something you lack.”

Hank eyed the cart’s contents warily. “Well so do oranges and I don’t see any of those.”

Connor turned his attention to the vegetables, scans already picking out which ones would be suitable for this week. “Studies suggest variations in a diet help improve its quality-” The quiet chatter of the store disappeared, replaced by pure silence. Connor froze.

A hand settled on his shoulder. He turned to find Hank mouthing something at him. “Why are you-” He couldn’t hear his own voice. Hank wasn’t mouthing words at him.  _He couldn’t hear_.

_AUDITORY INPUT: OFFLINE._

Terror gripped him. What was this? He ran several diagnostics in quick succession - his auditory biocomponents were… _absent_. Something was blocking their input from reaching his processors.

_WARNING: UNIDENTIFIED ENTITY. RECOMMEND FURTHER CODE ANALYSIS._

_-and local authorities recommend for members of the android population to refrain from interfacing or otherwise interacting with each other in a way that would promote the spread of the malware-_

Connecting with the mall associate. Transferring information between them had spread the… _malware_. His hands shook - static crowded his vision -

_Kid! Connor! Connor, look at me!_ Connor shifted from reading Hank’s lips to meeting the lieutenant’s eyes, stress levels spiking despite the logical knowledge that he was fine. Hank’s gaze was steady, concerned.  _Are you okay?_

“I- I’m okay- I can’t hear-” Hank cursed at what was probably an inappropriate volume, turning to wedge the cart between a rack of apples and a rack of peaches before taking Connor’s hand. Connor gripped it like a lifeline, following Hank out of the store.

Warm June air washed over them. Hank guided both of them across the lane separating the store from the parking lot, squeezing Connor’s hand when the android flinched away from a passing car he hadn’t been able to hear coming.

Connor didn’t release Hank’s hand the entire drive home.

***

Connor huddled into the space between the couch cushions and the armrest, LED flickering yellow-red-yellow as he ran diagnostics. Hank settled next to him, one hand patting Sumo’s head and the other still in Connor’s death-grip.

“A-” He stumbled, unused to silence instead of his voice. “A piece of malware is affecting my sensory biocomponents. I am unable to resolve this issue immediately. I-It may take a day or two for it to be removed.”

Hank’s hand moved from Sumo’s head to Connor’s knee, redirecting the android’s attention.  _Can’t one of your android buddies help you?_

“N-no, as that would only spread it to them. I-” Darkness.

_OPTICAL INPUT: OFFLINE._

“Hank- I can’t-!” The terror from earlier returned full force, his thirium pump stuttering in his chest. He couldn’t see-  _couldn’t see-_  His free hand found the fabric of the couch and gripped it tightly.

Hank pulled Connor into him, solid and  _there_. Connor clung to his shirt, inhaling the scent of whiskey and dog and Hank’s cologne. Another breath. He closed his eyes and felt his chest loosen slightly.

They sat on the couch, Connor pressed into Hank’s chest, for approximately 24 minutes and 15 seconds as the android calmed down. Sumo’s tail beat the side of the couch at regular intervals of 2.3 seconds. Connor breathed in more  _whiskey-dog-cologne_. Hank hummed a tune he couldn’t hear, but the vibrations of his chest and the steady beat of his heart were soothing in a way Connor couldn’t describe.

A louder rumble. Gentle, calloused hands took his. A finger brushed the back of his hand; a question mark. An unspoken  _are you okay?_

Connor nodded.

The hands left his. Hank stood up, Connor falling slightly into the depression he left behind. The android scrambled to grab Hank’s hand again but his fingers closed around empty air.

Something heavy draped across Connor’s shoulders, warm and smelling strongly of alcohol.  _Hank’s jacket_. He huddled under it, aware Hank had most likely gotten up to do…something. He curled into the couch and waited.

***

A pile of something soft landing on his lap jolted Connor back from his drifting. Without his auditory or optical input, it was difficult to remain present. He found himself lost somewhere in his memory recall, somewhere in the stale air of the Zen Garden and the slippery feeling of thirium between his fingers.  _Bad memories_. His hands caught and unraveled the material on his lap.

A worn, thin T-shirt, a pair of cotton shorts. Fuzzy socks, the same pair Hank had lent him that rainy night soon after the revolution. The overwhelming smell of Hank’s cologne.  _Had Hank…sprayed the clothes with his cologne?_  The effort was appreciated, and the clothes were soft.

Connor felt the impacts of Hank’s retreating footsteps, most likely to give him some space to change out of his old clothes (jeans, a button-down shirt). While he didn’t mind wearing, they bore no smell and they weren’t particularly comfortable against his skin, something that was only heightened by his sensory input deficiency.

He changed as quickly as he could without being able to see the buttons and knots, hands shaking slightly. He called out to Hank when he was done, anxious for him to return. He didn’t like how detached he felt, how easy it was to return to the recesses of his memory recall and internal processes. His hand smoothed over Sumo’s fur repeatedly, and the dog’s warm breath ghosted over his fingertips.

_AUDITORY INPUT: CORRUPTED._

_OPTICAL INPUT: CORRUPTED._

A stabbing pain behind his eyes. He hissed and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, trembling under the sudden onslaught of static. It roared in his ears and burned his vision. He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus- he breathed in deeply. The smell of Hank’s cologne was so strong it didn’t make room for much else in his processes. He kept inhaling deep, ragged breaths, holding Hank’s shirt over his nose so the smell was as strong as possible. Feedback whined shrill in his ears, cutting through the static and bringing with it a fresh source of pain.

When the static receded several minutes later, Connor found himself tucked back into Hank’s side, the lieutenant’s hands rubbing Connor’s arms and back as he rocked them back and forth gently. Connor leaned into the touch, grateful for any input that wasn’t pain.

Hank’s voice rumbled in his chest. Connor raised his head until it was nestled under Hank’s chin, better able to absorb and analyze the vibrations from his throat. The older detective’s beard scratched at Connor’s forehead.  _\- gon-a be ok-y - I’m h-re - sh-hh y-u’re o-ay -_

The static swelled once more. He felt a feeble cry rise in his throat, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes as he squeezed them shut. He felt Hank’s grip tighten,  _whiskey-dog-cologne_ , LED red _red **red**_  -

It was both the space between one of Hank’s heartbeats and an eternity before the static faded again. He drew in a shaky breath. He could feel Hank’s hands on his face now, could feel the dampness of Sumo’s drool on his bare knees, could feel the chill of the thermostat on his skin. He drew in a another breath.

_H-y_  - the hands on his face patted it, tried to get his attention -  _w-at w-s that?_

“Corrupted input- causing my sensors pain-” His mouth felt numb. Moving it hurt, so he turned his face into Hank’s shirt and hoped the explanation would suffice.

_Need anyth-ng?_

“T-talk to me?” The static crept up on him again, overwhelming, raw, loud. He lost his focus on analyzing Hank’s words but could feel the hum of them all the same. He loosened and tightened his grip on Hank’s shirt, feeling the structural components in his hands shift with the movement.

He was dimly aware of Hank rocking them again and carding his hands through Connor’s hair, the android trying to stay conscious through the waves of interference.

_Y-u’re alr-ght, y-u’ll be ok-y -_

Despite the ache in his head and ringing in his ears, Connor believed him. Despite the pervasive darkness, pervasive thoughts, pervasive silence, Connor believed him. He exhaled softly and relaxed into his spot between Hank and Sumo, exhausted but at peace.


	4. Washer...Mishaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who let Connor be in charge of the laundry? Connor, no-

He honestly didn't do it intentionally. He was a police android, after all. Most certainly not a domestic brand.

That didn't mean he couldn't  _try_ , though.

"Hank, I require briefing on how to operate the washer."

The lieutenant gave Connor a confused look, careful not to spill his beer as he twisted in his spot on the couch. "You want a what now?"

Connor shifted his weight between his feet, an unexpected nervousness rising in him as he gripped the clothes in his hands a little tighter. "I would like to wash some of my clothes. I believe the washer is used for such a thing, correct?"

Hank barked out a laugh, setting his bottle aside and getting up. "Alright. You know anything about it?"

"..." He frowned. "No. My databases return nothing."

Hank clapped a hand on his shoulder, almost knocking the disheveled laundry out of the android's hands. "Well I guess that's what I'm for, huh? Step one, turn it on, find the soap..."

* * *

"I'm very sorry."

"Yep."

"I promise to repay you."

"You've told me that."

"I was...unaware it could... _react_ like that."

Hank stared at the washing machine for exactly forty-six seconds. His face held nothing. His eyes, dull. "Me neither, kid."

"...I suspect your washing machine had a high amount of software instability. Perhaps it did not self-test."

" _You can't blame all your problems on deviants, Connor_."

* * *

 

Connor leaned over the washer, digging out the last of the laundry. Hank sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands. "Just chuck 'em. I'll take you clothes shopping this weekend."

Connor wadded up the fabric (because, well, that's all it was at that point) and cast a glance down at his pajamas. They were his only pieces of clothing that weren't fully formal. They had a faint puppy-and-kitten pattern. He loved them to death. 

They also were, coincidentally, his _only_ remaining pieces of clothing. "What will I wear to the station?"

Hank's hands still hadn't left his face. "I dunno, I've probably got jeans somewhere around you can borrow. That and a shirt." He lowered his hands some and squinted in Connor's direction. "You like floral, kid?""

* * *

 

Several audible giggles may or may not have been hastily suppressed by Hank's subsequent death glare after Connor's entrance at the station the next day.  _Someone_ (Chris) may or may not have scribbled 'like father like son' on the notepad on Hank's desk, with a smiley face, because it was Chris.

And if Hank and Connor  _just so happened_ to be wearing highly-similar prints, well, no one had to know it was on purpose. 

(Tina did. The shirts were hideous but she gave Hank bonus points for execution. Connor could make anything look adorable.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter is short :P


End file.
